“I love you too, asshole.”
“I’m sorry,” Nicholas said, eyeing Ben with caution. “We should check in with Ford and Thomas.”
Ben nodded. Nicholas led them down the corridor and reached for the shotgun in Ben’s hands.
“I got it,” Ben said, pulling away.
Nicholas frowned, but he said nothing.
Astrid and Daniel stood by the main door, each staring out into the night. The storm had finally started to wane, and the roll of thunder was a low, distant clamor. Astrid looked back over her shoulder and glanced at Ben with wide eyes.
“What’s the plan, Sheriff?” Daniel asked, having apparently reined in whatever mood had overtaken him outside the holding cell.
“Sun will be up in a few hours,” Nicholas said. “We should ride out the rest of the night here. The next shift will arrive at six.”
“And if something else happens?” Daniel asked.
“Did you bring the bag inside?”
Astrid gestured to a desk. Ben’s duffel bag sat on the surface.
“You went up to the factory?” Ben asked.
“We needed it,” Nicholas said, his tone brusque. “You should sit down. You look pale.”
Ben scowled, and Astrid cleared her throat as she stepped forward. She gestured for Ben to join her by another desk and pulled a bottle of Tylenol from one of its drawers.
“Take two,” she said. “I’d wager you’ve got an asshole of a headache.”
Ben took the two tablets when offered and swallowed them dry. He tried to ignore the way Nicholas paused to watch as if to make sure Ben was a good little boy who took his medicine when told.
Daniel joined Nicholas’ side, and Ben noticed the two 1100 tactical shotguns that rested next to the duffel bag. The officers were tightlipped while they loaded the magazines and pumped the forends. The satisfying click of the loaded guns was a comfort. Nicholas shone his flashlight over to Ben, seemed to consider him for a moment, then walked over and offered him a fistful of fresh rounds. Ben loaded two and pocketed the rest.
“I’m gonna take Ben to my office. I’ll be back in a sec,” Nicolas told his deputies. He passed his shotgun to Astrid and turned to Ben.
Ben did not move at first, but Nicholas’ insistent stare forced his feet into action. He followed Nicholas down the hallway and was quiet even after the door to the office was shut behind them. Nicholas took a moment to ensure that the room and its adjacent bathroom were empty. Ben loitered by the cluttered desk.
“How is your head?” Nicholas asked when he was satisfied that they were alone.
“I’ll live,” Ben said, and he was aware that they were now tiptoeing their way around a minefield of their own making.
“Are you hungry?” Nicholas asked at last, and a part of Ben ached at how forced and controlled the other man sounded. “There might be food in the break room. Coffee, at least.”
“I’m fine.”
Nicholas closed the distance between them, though his steps were tentative. The pads of his fingertips were rough when he reached up and stroked Ben’s right cheek. Ben closed his eyes and leaned toward the touch. Nicholas pulled back after a few fleeting seconds of contact, and Ben frowned at the loss.
“You should rest, Ben.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just you,” Nicholas murmured.
Ben stepped forward, but Nicholas receded a few paces.
“It’s really not the time,” Nicholas whispered, and he adjusted the duty belt around his waist as if to occupy his hands. “Get some rest.”
The refusal sounded gentle, but there was a firmness to Nicholas’ tone that made Ben flounder.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, withdrawing.
“Ben,” Nicholas started, but Ben held up a hand.
Ben took off his coat and wished he could remove his bruised ego as easily. He tossed the garment and his flashlight to the floor in the corner. After a few seconds of hesitation, he passed the Remington to Nicholas, who took it and furrowed his brow in confusion. Ben moved away.
“I’ll leave the door open,” Nicholas said. “I’m gonna go up front to keep a look out. I’ll check back in a few minutes.”
“Let me know if you want me to take over,” Ben said, settling down on his coat with his back to Nicholas.
“We’ll be fine.”
Ben stared at the drywall. He was reminded of naptime in preschool when he would toss and turn uncomfortably on the floor of a playroom with rough, prickly carpet while a stern teacher told him to just close his eyes and go to sleep.
“Ben,” Nicholas said with the same dejection that the beers at The Point had allowed to creep through just a few nights prior.
“What?”
There was a long silence, and Nicholas seemed to lose the motivation to continue. “Nothing. Just go to sleep.”
Ben did not reply. The sound of boots on marble heralded Nicholas’ exit. When he returned twenty minutes later, Ben pretended to be asleep until he left again. The lingering echo of Caroline Wisehart’s voice rang through him like the chime of bells in a church tower, and he did not allow himself to sleep; he knew his mother would be waiting for him on the kitchen floor of his dreams.
Illustration, Chapter Three. “Attacus atlas.”
Illustration, Chapter Four. “Hepialus humuli.”
Chapter Four
The rain stopped just before dawn, and sunshine crept in through the blinds of Nicholas’ office. Ben’s head throbbed, but he forced himself to his feet. He fought a moan at the way his stiff, sore back refused to cooperate. As he stumbled and stretched, Ben was certain he made more than one—or five—pained expressions, and he was thankful he was still alone. If present, Nicholas would probably try to coerce Ben into another nap.
Ben knew this was unfair, but after his time trapped in the jail cell, he felt as disconnected as the phone lines. He could sense himself shutting off and pulling away.
For once, it scared him.
It had worked with Peter, it had worked with everyone who had ever tried to get close, but Ben did not want it to happen with Nicholas.
Not with Nic.
Ben shrugged on his coat as he left the office. His stomach wrenched, and he knew he needed to eat. When he reached the end of the hall, he was surprised to see half a dozen officers busy at their desks. Astrid was shuffling through a stack of paperwork.
“Morning,” she said when she noticed Ben. “Sheriff said you’d probably be up soon.”
“Good morning,” Ben said, glancing around the office. “Where is he?”
“He went to check the roads with Daniel to see about getting some of them cleared.” She paused and looked up from a file. “It was a shitty thing he did, locking you up like that.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“How’s your head? He wants me to drive you up to County once the roads are safe.”
“That’s very kind of you, Astrid, but I’m fine. Good as new.”
Astrid arched an eyebrow. “You don’t look so fine in the light of day. If you don’t mind me saying, that is.”
“Nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix. Is Duvall’s open?”
“I really should take you to County,” Astrid said, ignoring his question. “Boss’ll wring my neck if I don’t.”
“It’ll be our little secret,” he said as he headed to the door.
He exited the building and hopped over a puddle at the foot of the front steps. Main Street was barren. He walked around the square, preferring to avoid the fountain, and made his way to Duvall’s.
There were two men at the counter—both hunched over cups of coffee—and a man and a woman in one of the back booths. Ben took a seat at the counter and tried to ignore the way the woman began whispering to her companion.
The older man closest to Ben stood, tossed two one-dollar bills on the counter, and stalked out without looking at him.
Mae shuffled over. “Morning.”
“Good morning, Mae.”
“Anyone gone to check on them?” Ben asked, though he had no idea who Robbie was and assumed he was responsible for the pancakes Ben had partaken in two mornings ago.
“I’ll go in a spell if they haven’t shown up by then,” Mae said. “We’re not exactly buzzing with customers.”
“I can go check if you want.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, Ben, but I have a feeling they aren’t around. A lot of people left last night before the storm hit.”
“Left? To go where?”
“Anywhere but here,” Mae said and shrugged. “There’s talk, you know. Always talk.”
Ben registered the exasperation in her voice. “What about?”
“At the moment?” Mae asked, and she offered an embarrassed smile. “That you being here’s what made ‘it’ so mad.” She rolled her eyes while making little air quotes with her fingers as she said ‘it.’
“Probably for the best,” he said, shifting on his seat. He supposed he had made it mad. “The farther away they are, the better.”
“What are you talking about?”
“C’mon, Mae,” Ben whispered as he bent over the counter to close the distance between them. “You know there’s something out there. It’s just not what any of you think.”
“I ain’t much for fairy tales, honey.”
“You should start believing, Mae.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Ben,” she said as she threw her hands up in the air. “Now you’re starting in on it too?”
Ben said nothing.
“I’m surrounded by crazies!” Mae exclaimed before she stomped into the kitchen.
Ben finished his coffee in a few quick gulps and slapped a five-dollar bill onto the counter. He left the diner, much to the relief of the couple in the booth. Ben gave them a dour look over his shoulder before the door shut behind him.
Carmichael’s Pharmacy was closed. Ben grumbled; he was in desperate need of some aspirin. He crossed the street to Chapman’s and was surprised to find it open and busy. People seemed to be stocking up on supplies. Ben wondered if they were leaving town or if they would be hiding in their basements and fallout shelters. The latter thought made him want to giggle with delirium.
He ignored the pointed looks and whispers as he strode through the crowd to an aisle lined with shampoo bottles and packages of baby diapers. There was a dismal selection of painkillers with the medicine at the end, but he grabbed a bottle of extra strength Advil and supposed it would suffice. He took a loose apple and a bottle of water on his way to the checkout. The way people moved out of his way was almost hilarious.
Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Ben thought with increased hysteria.
Janice, the woman behind the register who had been polite to Ben only two days prior, watched him with a wariness that was wounding as she scanned his items.
“$6.33, please.”
Ben paid with a ten-dollar bill and did not wait for the change.
He ambled up Main Street, sat down on a bench, and looked out over the disaster site from the day before. He opened the Advil and tapped four out into his palm before he swallowed them down with a gulp of water. His mouth tasted fuzzy, and he desperately wanted to brush his teeth and change his clothes, but his belongings were in Nicholas’ house, and Nicholas had disappeared off for duty.
Of course.
The Camaro was still at the old factory, and Ben felt trapped. He wanted to get in his car and drive. Driving always cleared his head. And with the asshole of a headache he had now, a drive was needed.
Ben pulled his battered phone from the back pocket of his jeans. No missed calls, no messages. He thought of Kate and the voicemails that had been left for him the previous night. He took an angry bite out of the apple. That Azazel would threaten his sister made Ben swell with rage.
Ben tossed his half-eaten semblance of a breakfast into a garbage bin featuring a ‘Keep Point Pleasant Pleasant!’ sign, took a long drink of water, and threw the finished bottle in after the apple. He shoved the painkillers into his coat pocket and hurried down the street. Spivey’s Hardware was open despite the general chaos of the town, and Ben’s nose wrinkled with distaste when he thought of the brown sludge its proprietor had spat into the stained wad of paper towels.
Ben checked both ways before he crossed the street to the purple house. Marietta opened the door before he even managed to knock.
“Psychic thing?” Ben asked, though he felt too weary to actually care.
“Get in here,” Marietta said, rolling her eyes.
Ben followed her inside, and she gave him a quick, assessing look after she had clicked the lock on the door in and out of place the token seven times she seemed to deem necessary to ensure her home was secure.
“Well, you’ve certainly been through the wringer,” Marietta said. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“I’m okay, I’m not—”
“Go sit at the table!” Marietta said and shooed him toward the kitchen.
A pink refrigerator that had to have been at least as old as Marietta emitted a loud hum as Ben slid into a seat.
“How do you feel about grits?” Marietta asked.
“I love grits, ma’am,” Ben said with a sincere smile. “I haven’t had any in years.”
“Good,” Marietta said as she pulled a saucepan from underneath a cabinet and busied herself at the stove that shared the same shade of blush as her Frigidaire. “You broke it, then.”
“A little warning about the supernatural light explosion would have been nice.”
Marietta shot a withering look over her shoulder, which Ben met with a haughty expression of his own.
“He didn’t tell me that part,” Marietta said and turned her attention to the stovetop.
Ben considered the psychic for a long moment before he spoke again. “Do you know?”
“Know what?” Marietta asked, snorting with derision. “That he’s an angel?”
“Yeah. That seems like relevant information.”
“And I suppose you would have believed me, hmm? We have to find out some things for ourselves, Benjamin. Makes believing in them more significant.”
“So what’s your deal?” Ben asked. “If you knew about him before.”
“My deal?”
“Why are you only tossing your hat into the ring now?”
“Well, I’m certainly not helping him because some skinny little white boy showed up on my front stoop. There is something happening far greater than you or I can comprehend, Benjamin Wisehart. You’d do best to bear that in mind. We all have shoes to fill. And some of those shoes just happen to be for wider feet.”
“My shoe size is pretty unremarkable,” Ben said. “But you seem to have some pretty big ones to fill. I mean, no offense. I don’t like this metaphor.”
Marietta huffed out a laugh and continued to cook. She peered over her shoulder to regard him as she reached for a shaker of salt on the nearby countertop. “My family has a history with this sort of thing.”
“What, helping trapped archangels? Is there really a market for that?”
“Keep your sass to yourself, Benjamin,” Marietta shot back. “I’ll have none of it in my kitchen.”
“Sorry,” Ben said. “I’m in a weird mood today.”
“I would expect as much,” she said. “But you should be more respectful just the same.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ben said, sinking down in his chair.
“Anyway, we all have our parts to play if we choose to participate.”
“There’s a choice?”
“There’s always a choice. Our decisions wouldn’t amount to a pile of dirty laundry if we didn’t have a choice.”
“So what’s yours?”
“To help him be understood. To the best of my own abilities. And before you ask, your part has not yet been made clear to me
. But you are needed.”
Marietta brought over a bowl of cheesy grits and a cup of coffee. “Eat,” she said. “You’ve got work to do, and you need your strength.”
The grits were hot and salted to just the right measure. Ben savored the way they melted on his tongue. “Damn, that’s nice.”
“Good,” Marietta said, giving a smug nod at the compliment. “Now finish your breakfast. I have to show you something.”
Something was in Marietta’s backyard where she kept her herb garden. Ben followed her halfway down the walkway before he froze mid-stride.
Raziel stood by a small dogwood tree, its branches withered from the shifting season.
“He wants to thank you, Benjamin,” Marietta said.
Raziel stepped forward and folded his wings behind his back. The archangel looked different from the times Ben had seen him in the forest. His skin was paler and did not appear gray at all. Nor did he seem to be scaly; he was just dirty and covered in old scar tissue. His flesh bore the same opalescent sheen that Ben had observed on the frontispiece of the shield. As the morning sun shone down, Raziel seemed to reflect its rays.
His eyes, though red, were hardly menacing in the light of day. They were like finely polished stones of garnet, and Ben was transfixed for a moment before he realized that he had made direct eye contact with an angel—no, an archangel—and forced his gaze to the ground.
My life is so fucking weird. The thought was sudden, but it rang through his head like a bell, and Ben wanted to laugh with the hysteria he had felt in Chapman’s. He spared a glimpse at the archangel and saw that Raziel seemed to be smiling.
Oh, shit. Can he read my thoughts?
“Yes,” Marietta said even though Ben had not voiced the question aloud. “He can.”
“Oh.” Ben flustered. “Sorry. My head isn’t the best of places to be in most of the time.”
Marietta laughed, and he realized that she was laughing not only for herself but also for Raziel.
Ben tried to smile, but he was sure it came across as awkward. “This is surreal.”
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